


The Parade

by ProgramasaurusRex



Category: Annie (1982)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 23:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12178668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProgramasaurusRex/pseuds/ProgramasaurusRex
Summary: An Origin Story





	The Parade

Agatha Wilson pulled open the drapes of the dormitory window to let in the light of the morning. The room was furnished with a lot of mismatched donated furniture, but it was spotlessly clean and decorated brightly with various sewing samplers and crayon drawings made by the occupants through the years. It wasn't the Waldorf Astoria, but it was home. Eight little girls, ranging in age from two to thirteen, stirred in their beds. 

"Good morning, girls!" she said cheerfully. "It's time to get up and begin the day."

Alice groaned at the idea of leaving her cozy bed. But Lucille sat up energetically and smiled at Mrs. Wilson, a shine in her ocean-blue eyes.

"Today's the day we get to see May in the parade, isn't it?"

Mrs. Wilson beamed. Her daughter May was very popular with the orphans in her orphanage.

"Yes," she said. "I'm so proud I could burst!"

Mrs. Wilson helped the smaller girls button up their dresses in the back. She brushed and braided hair of all colors and lengths before brushing her own long, thick red hair. At twenty-nine, she still retained much of her youthful beauty, but the strain of being a mother to one and a surrogate mother to many was starting to create all sorts of unpleasant lines and bags on a face that had once won her beauty contests. But no matter. The girls were worth it.

Next, she shepherded her little flock through their morning chores. The work was hard, and she hated to see the older girls down on their knees scrubbing the floors, but the orphanage simply had no money for a maid. And the floors must be scrubbed once a week; she had read terrible stories in the newspapers about the spread of typhus and other terrible diseases. She liked her girls healthy, so the best she could do was tuck up her dress and help them thoroughly wash every surface in their bedroom. Many hands made light work.

"It's so shiny!" said Jane, admiring her face in the floor.

"I suppose the place does look nice when it's all clean," said Alice. "I just wish the little kids didn't track in so many muddy footprints. Don't they know how hard we work to get out all their spots and stains?"

After they had cleaned the room and gotten some hot oatmeal in them, it was time for lessons in the schoolroom. They hadn't the time to go to school full time, but Mrs. Wilson was determined to raise her girls to know how to read, spell, sew, and do simple sums. When they grew too old for the orphanage, she always managed to find them a suitable position, usually as a secretary, a telephone operator, or a seamstress. One of her alumni who had possessed an unusually good head for figures had even managed to become an accountant. They also took in some sewing jobs from the neighborhood so they could raise some much-needed funds to supplement the income they received from the state of New York and buy some occasional treats for themselves. By the time these girls were sixteen, each of them would be armed with the skills to take on the world.

"Mrs. Wilson, how do you say this word? Da ... Da - guh .. I don't know," said Grace, a small girl with steel rimmed spectacles around her green eyes.

Mrs. Wilson looked over her shoulder. "That's 'dog'," she said. "Now there's a wonderful word!"

"Can we get a dog?" asked Grace.

"I'm sorry," said Mrs. Wilson, "but I don't think we could afford it."

"We could feed him on table scraps!" said Alice. "He could sleep in our bedroom with us."

"Dog!" crooned Pepper, who was only two and usually spent lesson times playing at Alice's feet.

"Well ..." said Mrs. Wilson, her resolve starting to crumble. "I'll think about it."

Soon, it was time for the Halloween parade. All the girls put on their homemade costumes and walked to 34th street in a a neat line.

"I'm a witch!" shouted Jane, waving her broom. "I'll curse you all!"

Pepper, who was riding on Mrs. Wilson's shoulders, shrieked cowered in fear.

"Oh, dear, don't scare her!" said Alice, who was especially fond of Pepper.

"I'm sorry," said Jane, lifting her paper mask to reveal her sweet, heart-shaped face. "It's only me, Pepper."

Pepper laughed, trying to position her fingers around her eyes so she could play, too. She was growing into a tough little thing.

"Which float will May be on?" asked Lucille.

"Oh, she's near the end, with all the other children who won prizes," said Mrs. Wilson. "She'll be carrying her prize winning painting. Her father will be riding with her, too, as head of the school art society."

The children watched happily as a number of spooky floats passed by. Soon enough, they spotted May.

"It's such a lovely painting, but scary," said Jane. "It's a good likeness of Charcoal."

"May deserves some glory," said Lucille. "She's always helping me out with things. Doesn't she look wonderful in her white dress, too!" 

May had been working on her costume for weeks. She was dressed as an angel, with a tinfoil halo in her golden curls. Proudly she carried a watercolor painting of a black cat, modeled after a favorite neighborhood stray. When she spotted her mother and her friends, she waved furiously.

The accident happened too quickly to process. Without any sort of warning, Mrs. Wilson saw a truck barrel across the road, straight through the barrier put up for the parade and into the float carrying her husband and daughter.

It took a moment for everything to stop, for the marching band to stop playing and the policemen to stop walking. But as silence descended upon the street, the full impact of what she had just seen hit Mrs. Wilson as if a great big grocery truck had hit her, too.

She ran out into the street, followed by the girls. She couldn't seem to find the words to explain. She felt like she was underwater. Alice, who was the oldest, had to tell the fireman how they knew the bodies lying in the middle of the road.

"You ride in the ambulance," Alice was saying to her. "I'll take the girls home."

But the two hearts Mrs. Wilson loved best had already stopped beating.

She had no memory of the trip to the morgue, the arrangements made, or the journey home. When her senses returned, she was standing in front of the orphanage. A newborn baby in a basket was lying in the doorway.

Wordlessly, Mrs. Wilson read the letter. The baby was called Annie. She was only a few days old. Her parents had left her here, just left her on the step, writing vaguely that they'd come get her 'soon'. Like the baby was a pile of laundry. These two incredibly irresponsible people who had somehow produced this child, this living daughter with warm, healthy blood in her veins, had left her on a goddamn door mat. They hadn't even had the decency to hand her over in person.

Well, it wasn't the first time.

The girls crowded around her, trying to embrace her, but she shook them all off. The world was a cruel place, and it was time these motherless, fatherless children learned that. Better now than later, when the disappointment would be too great to bear.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Wilson," said Jane.

"I'm not Mrs. Wilson anymore," she said, pawing at the tears rolling down her face. "I'm not married anymore. I'm a widow. I have no more family than you girls."

Several of the girls burst into tears, too. Alice spoke up, a shake in her voice.

"What shall we call you then? We can't use your Christian name; it wouldn't be proper."

With a hint of a sneer on her lips, the woman said, "You may call me Miss Hannigan."


End file.
